we tacked about, and sailed to the southward. About eleven o'clock at night, I was surprised by the hitherto unusual appearance of the sun shining into the cabin windows. To one who, from his earliest remembrance had witnessed the ordinary division of day and night, as it occurs in our climate, this effect was novel and astonishingly interesting.
May 3. By the continuation of the gale, the ship was still kept embayed in a deep bight of ice; but the wind moderating, we sailed to the eastward, until streams of ice again set limits to our further advance; but, on standing to the south-west, they were soon lost. Just as the steward came on deck, to announce that the cabin-supper was ready, I saw at some distance, a whale blowing: it is impossible to express my feelings on the occasion, or to describe the vehemence with which I shouted—a fish! a fish!! The bustle of all the men coming on deck, and of the different crews jumping into their respective boats, ready for the pursuit, was a scene of most animating activity. The spectioneer's (first harpooner) boat was destined for the service, and accordingly lowered. The wind began to increase immediately after, and drifting snow came with a severity that made it very painful to the eyes[1], and often obscured the sight
- ↑ From the cutting effects of the snow, I was induced to examine it through a powerful magnifying glass, and found it to be formed of extremely minute pieces of ice, angularly pointed at their ends, of prismatic form.
